Scarecrow's Revenge
by Twinings
Summary: Nine years ago, two rather foolish girls pantsed Jonathan Crane. Revenge is a dish best served cold.
1. Alice

Disclaimer: This is the delightful sequel to "A Savage Pantsing." Therefore, I own my characters, Al and Emily. (See, she has a name now.) I do not, however, own the Scarecrow, Batman, Robin, Batgirl, or a million dollars. So sueing me would be a bit silly, wouldn't it?

Enjoy the horrible revenge!

P.S. This story is rated M for language. Ye has beens warnsed.

* * *

Jonathan Crane: 

"Did I ever tell you about the time I almost died?" I whisper to my captive. She is Alice Hare, Al to her friends, twenty-nine years old, mousy, thick glasses. Once a promising medical student, my intern. I won't say I was fond of her then, but I would not have gone out of my way to harm her, not until after the night she and her friend surprised me in my office.

"No, of course I never told you. But you remember it, don't you. You were there." She trembles now in fear of me, her eyes dilated and magnified to huge proportions behind her glasses. This fear is a learned behavior. I am not naturally an intimidating man. I am not wearing my mask. This one, of all people, would not be as frightened of the mask as she is of my own face.

"Tell me about it, Alice. Tell me in your own words."

--

Al:

I've been called crazy my whole life, reckless, foolhardy, mental. But one thing I'm not is stupid, at least not stupid enough to defy this man. I've been to the opera with Oswald Cobblepot. Harvey Dent has called me a dirty double dealer. Pamela Isley gave me flowers for my last birthday.

I've led my gang safely away from Jim Gordon and the Batman.

No one scares me like this man, Jonathan Crane. The Scarecrow.

"We didn't mean to hurt you," I say, speaking frantically against my will. "You woke up sooner than I expected. You would have killed us, wouldn't you? You killed her mother!"

"Begin at the beginning," he says, leaning close to me, his face a mask of perfect calm. I draw a shivery breath, trying to calm my growing hysteria—trying not to give him anything.

"You killed the old lady with your fear toxin. That was the first clue. I didn't know what it was, but I saw in your files that nobody who got that stuff stayed right in the head long after. I wanted some help investigating, so I got Em to help me. It wasn't her idea. She was just handy because she worked there and we lived together. I barely knew the girl, I was just using her, and she wasn't even very useful. I'm the one who had to do all the work." He hears the lie in my voice, but doesn't call me on it. "It was my idea to drug your coffee. You always told me to make coffee when you went to…" I can't say it.

"Ward 5," he finishes. I hear the echo of a scream. I want to die.

"I was supposed to warn her when you started to wake up. I tried, but…you killed her mother. She found out you were up to something and she tried to blackmail you, didn't she? So you killed her." He nods equitably, showing neither pride nor shame. I want to punch his fragile little face in. I want to beat him to a bloody pulp. I want to watch his bones melt under my fists like spun sugar. I want to fight him the way I've seen my boys fight, graceless and brutal. I wonder if he knows I'm feeling more angry than afraid. "You don't even care, do you?" He shrugs.

"There are things that should frighten you more than death," he says. "Go on with the story."

"I tried to stop you from seeing her. Knocking you out was an accident, but after that we couldn't go back. We just wanted to hide our identities. I had been asking around, trying to see if you were the kind of person who would really do this, but no one really seemed to know you. I did talk to a security guard, a real asshole who went to high school with you. He told me this story about when you were fourteen, he and his friends beat you up, stripped you down to your underwear, and tied you op on the football field." For an instant, Dr. Crane looks like he's bitten into something sour. I wonder if it would be wise to upset him. "They forgot about you, and nobody found you the next day, like they expected. You were stuck there, hanging over the football field, all weekend. It must have been terrifying," I say sympathetically.

His hands slam against the wall on either side of my head. He leans in closer, his face contorted with fury.

"Terrifying? You don't know terrifying. Not yet."

"You spit on me."

He slaps me. I begin to laugh.

"You hit like my granny, Scarecrow."

He turns and leaves the room, enraged, and I grin. This is what I studied as a young psychiatrist-in-training. This is my favorite tactic to employ against my enemies as a crime lord. This is what has always fascinated me.

Ridicule. Humiliation.

Oh, shit.

He comes back in, wearing his Scarecrow mask, carrying something small and shiny. I have a split second of understanding before he gasses me.

Then I'm sobbing and begging him not to hurt me. His expression under the mask probably mirrors mine of a few seconds ago.

"Just finish the story, Alice."

"P-please—please—"

"Finish it." The voice is a deep growl. I think it cannot possibly be coming from the throat of mild little Dr. Crane.

Then my mind tells me that there is _nothing_ behind this mask, Dr. Crane is dead, we murdered him nine years ago on a rooftop in December.

"I'm sorry," I sob. "It's all my fault. But I didn't mean to kill him!"

"Kill who?" prompts the Scarecrow.

"Dr. Crane! I wanted to get him back for what happened to Emily when we found the toxin, that's all. I didn't mean to really hurt him."

"What did you do?"

"He was going to see Emily in his office, so I tripped him to give her time to run. But he hit his head. Then I thought we could mess with him and turn his attention to that asshole guard. If anyone had to suffer for this, I thought it should be the guy who laughed while telling a total stranger about torturing a little boy. He laughed and said, 'They had to take the scarecrow to the hospital because—because—'" I'm crying too hard to speak.

"What did you say before you tripped him?"

"What?"

"What did you say?"

--

Scarecrow:

She won't answer—perhaps she honestly doesn't remember—so I say it for her.

"'Wait! I have to stall you!'"

"No," she sobs.

"He knew it was you all along."

"No!"

"I would have come for you anyway. Everything you did was needless." She tries to turn away. There is nowhere for her to go. "The only thing you accomplished was to bring your friend to my attention as well."

"No!" Alice screams. "Emily didn't do anything. It was all me. You have no reason to go after her. I'm the one who hurt you. I did everything!"

"But, Alice," I say calmly, "those who watch and do nothing are as guilty as those who act."

"But she saved you," she says frantically. "When you—he—" She is confused, trying to reconcile her drug-induced fantasies with reality. "Dr. Crane wasn't breathing. Emily tried to save him."

"That was her mistake, wasn't it?"

I can see this woman's mind like a map spread out before me. She has little trouble causing pain, but she needs the illusion that the pain she causes is necessary and deserved.

I had always planned to destroy Emily Burke as well as her friend. Now I decide that Alice will still be sane when it happens.

It takes longer to extract my information without destroying her mind, but after a few days of careful work, Alice gives me the address.

--


	2. Emily

Emily:

For years I have been taking drugs to suppress my dreams, so when I open my eyes to see him hovering over me, I know it's not just another nightmare.

I scream and lash out at him with both hands, flailing, scratching at his face, tearing at his clothes. I have been taking self-defense classes for years, expecting him to come for me. In this moment, I forget everything I ever learned. I don't even think to knee him in the groin. He pins both my arms. I don't know how; he can't weigh much more than I do, if as much.

He leans down close to me and whispers, "Boo."

Somehow, I free my arms and shove him away from me. I hit the floor before he does, running for my door.

It's locked. I lock it every night: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, from top to bottom. I will never get them all open in time.

I turn and sprint to my window. If I make the jump just right, I will have a dumpster to break my fall. It's something I've practiced many times in my mind.

He grabs me as I'm raising the sash. Stupid, I should have just broken the glass. He turns me around to face him.

He has put on his mask, but I can still see his unnaturally blue eyes.

I hear a hiss, smell blood, feel a numbing cold. His toxin enters my lungs.

I have one last thought.

This is the end of me.

--

Scarecrow:

Emily Burke crumples at my feet. She shivers uncontrollably, already hyperventilating.

Today is the first day of December. This rathole apartment is remarkably well-heated. My hideout is not. A more considerate kidnapper would dress her more warmly. I don't consider it. I know that one of her greatest fears stems from a childhood memory of falling through the ice in a frozen pond. The cold will bring the fear. The fear will make her mine.

Alice's fear has already made her mine. She has betrayed her friend in so many small ways.

Emily shrieks when I touch her. She does not stop until I move away to where she can no longer see me. Then she weeps quietly, holding herself.

She is still afraid of drowning in the ice.

But her greatest fear is me.

--

The version of the toxin I'm using on them wears off quickly. She should be back to normal before we cross the state line, but even when we are well inside Gotham City, she trembles and shrinks away from me. She is tied up on my floorboards with nowhere to go. I enjoy sitting in the backseat with her, maskless, just staring.

When my driver stops in front of the warehouse I'm "renting," I reach down as if to pick her up. She becomes hysterical very quickly, but this time she doesn't cry out. I have effectively gagged her with her own socks.

"Come along," I say gently. My bedside manner may be rusty, but it frightens her more than the usual scare tactics, which pleases me. It has been so long since I've been able to use any subtlety. "There's nothing to fear," I tell her, "but fear itself."

--


	3. Al and Em

Al:

He comes again. I flinch. I hate myself. In my world, I have power without limit. He has reduced me to this.

He hasn't come for me this time. He is leading someone, a short, dark-haired woman in plaid pajamas.

I can't see her face, but I can see his. He looks pleased. Smirking. She hangs back from him as far as she can without ripping her own arms out of their sockets.

My heart plummets.

"Emily?"

She perks up when she hears my voice, but she can't answer. Her mouth is covered by duct tape. Since her feet are bare, I assume he's taken a cue from me and stuffed a pair of socks in there. Her hands are behind her back, giving her an awkward sideways gait as he drags her along behind him.

I take all this into consideration as I begin to make our first escape plan.

He lets her go in the middle of the room. She falls. Scoots across the floor to crouch at my feet. I would hug her if I could. It's been years since I've seen her in person, although the midnight phone calls still come at least once a week. She doesn't look good.

"Enjoy your reunion," says the Scarecrow. "Our first session will be tomorrow morning. 8:00 sharp."

He leaves us. I'm sure he's still monitoring our conversation somehow.

"Em?"

"Mmm?"

"You okay?"

"Mm-hmm."

"He didn't hurt you?"

"Mm-mmm." I smile mischievously.

"Is that all you can say?" She growls. "Hang onto that sense of humor. It'll serve you well. Here, let me get that tape off your face." She pushes herself up to where my hand is chained to the wall, but I can't see what I'm doing, and I don't manage to pull off the duct tape.

This doesn't please either of us.

"Never mind. I've had one-sided conversations before." I sigh. "It's really good to see you again, even under these rather inconvenient circumstances." Because I feel awkward saying it, I don't tell her I love her. She knows I do.

--

Emily has been dozing for about half an hour when the Scarecrow returns. We have no windows, no way to tell the time, but I can only assume it is 8:00.

She wakes, sees him, and bursts into noisy, difficult tears. All the hours I spent calming her are forgotten.

"Emily! He can't hurt you! Fear is nothing!"

"Not so." The henchman he has brought with him moves toward me. He takes Emily himself.

The faceless henchman unchains me and turns me to face the wall. This is new. As he puts the chains back on, I hear the sound of ripping tape.

"Motherfucker!" Emily screams. She has changed quite a bit from the young lady I used to know.

She is still screaming obscenities when they gas me.

And a second later when the walls begin to melt.

And still when they gas her.

"Son of a-aaa-aaah!" I hear nothing more coherent from her for the next few hours.

I can see nothing, but my mind shows me more than I ever wanted to see. The tone of her screams conjures the image of flying entrails. The splashing doesn't help.

He's killing her. He's really killing her.

A splash of blood lands on my cheek.

"Leave her alone!" I scream. "Just leave her alone!"

--


	4. And one is lost

Scarecrow:

"Stop it! Leave her alone!" Their sensations are so distorted, they don't even realize they're screaming the same thing.

I make a game of it, seeing how close I can get the knife to Alice's back without touching her. The way she's thrashing, it isn't easy.

My assistant sprays us all with reheated pigs' blood. It may improve the effects of this mask, but I will enjoy a good scrubbing and a change of clothes when I'm done. There are times when I miss the amenities of civilization—electricity, running water, central heat. But the only consistent place for me to find such things in Gotham is inside Arkham, and I'm not as enamored of the place as I once was.

Neither are they, I'm sure.

I grow tired of the game, so I take off my mask and stand over Emily. Just stand there.

If anything, her screaming intensifies.

Interesting.

I decide it's time to separate the pair. Emily fights me like a wild animal, but there is nothing she can do. I drag her, screaming, down the hall.

"Al!" she cries again and again.

I laugh at her.

"I'm afraid you'll get no help from that direction. Not anymore."

--

Al:

I spend the rest of that day in hysterics. They take me to the bathroom. They let me eat. I hardly notice. They take me back to that room and leave me to look at the blood.

I feel sick.

--

Scarecrow:

Emily lies perfectly still. How sad that I have shattered her so quickly.

Alice is on another monitor, still weeping. Soon I will begin to work on her in earnest.

I relish the thought. Her will is stronger than her friend's. She will be a most interesting subject.

I go back to her that night. She has exhausted herself; still chained to the wall, she is slumped over, in a deep sleep.

I study her face in the darkness.

This could have been me, if I had been born a girl. Tall, thin, and angular, thick glasses, strawlike hair—she even has my coloring. Her face has a certain fullness to it, though. She has always been well fed, well dressed, well cared for by her family.

This woman is not like me.

Her glasses are sliding down her nose. I push them back up. She stirs, but does not wake.

Holding her chin in my hand, I tilt her face toward the light. She is tearstained and bloody. I have already made a mess of her.

She mutters something in her sleep.

It sounds like, "I'm sorry."

I consider letting her wake up with my eyes an inch from her own. That was enough to reduce Emily to a gibbering wreck. But I think Alice may require different tactics.

I leave her alone for now.

Time enough and more for what I want to do.

--


	5. And is one found?

Al:

Waking up is hard to do.

When the Scarecrow comes back to me, I find I hardly have the energy to react. He seems disappointed.

He sees that he's made a mistake. I have nothing left to fear.

"Your friend, Emily, is still alive," he says finally, irritated with my indifference. I shrug. Lies. "She's in no shape to hold a conversation, but I'm sure she'd love to see you." I don't respond. I can't bring myself to care what trick is up his sleeve.

--

Scarecrow:

I didn't intend for the depression to his her so hard, so fast. The crime queen is more caring than she would seem. Selective about who receives her friendship, I believe, but wholehearted when she gives it.

I realize I have gone too far. My goal is to destroy her utterly, not sink her so far inside herself I can no longer reach her. The guilt and sorrow are overpowering her fear. I need to get her back under my control.

I need to bring back the little friend.

Emily is lying on the floor exactly as I left her. I have removed the duct tape. The only thing binding her is her fear.

I know she sees me, because her eyes follow me as I move into the room. I know she has enough of a mind left to recognize me, because she makes a soft sound of fear in the back of her throat as I approach.

I know I have broken her, because she makes no move to fight me or escape.

She is almost too heavy for me to drag down the hall. Dead weight.

If I were still a child…

Yes, I know what they would say. I can still hear their mocking voices in my head even after all these years.

"What kind of villain can't even carry a helpless woman down a hallway?"

I put it out of my mind. Who cares what a bunch of dead children think? I am the master here. I am in control.

I will do what I set out to do.

I open the door and drag Emily into the room. I drop her in the pool of dried blood at Alice's feet. Alice doesn't react.

I am not wearing my mask. I know these women are more frightened by Jonathan Crane, the man, than Scarecrow, the monster. Still, I feel naked. Alice can, if she chooses, see every change, every nuance of my expression. I fear she will read me before I have her. I know she will see that I'm flustered and out of breath.

I want for her. Still she does nothing.

"Well? Kiss and make up." Alice doesn't even open her eyes.

"I wish we'd let you die that day." She sounds tired. Empty.

Emily's head moves slightly.

"Al?"

Alice's eyes snap open. She looks down and sees her friend lying in the blood.

"There's not a scratch on her," I say. Alice locks her eyes with mine.

"You son of a bitch. I should have killed you when I had the chance." Angry now, and on the verge of tears. Good.

I think it will be safe to leave them alone for a while. After all, Emily isn't likely to get up and run, and the only thing it seems she's able to say now, other than my name, is, "Al?"

She says it almost like a prayer.

--

Al:

I try to get her talk to me. I try to tell her that everything will, honestly, be okay. All she does is lie there, whispering, "Scarecrow, Scarecrow."

Once she looks up at me and says, "His eyes, Al. Watching all the time. Scare…crow…Scare…crow…Scare…crow…"

I can't even tell if she's really talking to me or not.

I want to believe that she'll get better. I realize that when he gets done with a victim, there is no such thing as better. There is simply nothing left to cure. But I tell myself that my friend is different. There's still time. If I can just get her out of here, she will have to be okay.

Not that she was really okay before. For the past nine years she's been a paranoid shut-in whose only friend is the Crime Queen of Gotham. Before that, she was an antisocial bookworm who had to be dragged into friendship and the outside world kicking and screaming.

But if Emily's messed up, then I'm calling the kettle black.

"Scarecrow," Emily whispers just as Charles Foster Kane whispered, "Rosebud." The unintentional similarity is eerie.

"Don't worry, Em. Whatever he did to you, he's not going to do it again. I won't let him." It only remained to figure out how.


	6. Take two and call me in the morning

He returns later, masked. I look past the burlap; I meet his eyes. I have no fear for myself.

"Scarecrow," I say. "I challenge you to a duel."

He doesn't blink.

"A duel?"

"Yes. I used to admire the work of the fascinating young Dr. Crane. Your insights into the nature and use of fear are what inspired me to become a psychiatrist. But I had some ideas of my own. Fear may be the perfect tool for destroying the mind, but humiliation can grant long-term control while leaving the subject superficially intact. I was going to write a paper comparing my theories to yours. It would have been masterful. But life interfered. I never finished my paper or my education, and I've always wondered…So now I want to challenge you to a duel to see whose techniques are superior."

"And how do you propose we carry out this duel?" he asks, sounding faintly intrigued.

"Batman has two sidekicks, right? If you could capture them both, get them back here, and keep them for a few days without the Bat finding us, they could be our test subjects. You take one and I'll take the other, and whoever has the secret identity first is the winner. But the deal is, no removing the mask yourself, no drugging them, and no physical torture that might leave permanent scars. Psychological techniques only."

"I suppose if you win, you'll want me to let you go?"

"No. You'll have me no matter what. If I win, I want you to let Emily go. Get her to a doctor—a _good_ one—and swear you'll never go after her again." He looks at the mess on the floor and laughs dryly.

"And what happens if I win?"

"If you win, I'll help you stand against Batman. Whether you go to him or he comes to you, he's going to be pretty damn pissed. This could be your ultimate showdown, and most of the people I care about would be better off if you were the one who survived."

--

I'm not sure he can actually pull it off, but a week later, he brings me Batgirl and Robin. A couple of kids. I wouldn't call either of them a day older than sixteen. Duct tape keeps them immobilized and silent, but they glare at us defiantly, both sure that any minute now, Batman will come to their rescue.

Scarecrow takes Batgirl. I take Robin.

He doesn't lock me up anymore (I have given my word not to use my relative freedom to try to escape) but he has assigned Joe Henchman to watch my every move. Poor Robin. It will be so embarrassing for him to have another man watching everything I do to him.

I have Joe Hench take him to a bare white room, one of a long line of former offices that are all I have seen of this building. Joe Hench stands blocking the doorway. Robin lies helpless in the middle of the room. I stand over him.

"Well, well, well," I say. "It's the Boy Wonder." I kneel beside him, tracing the R on his chest with my finger. "I always heard that you and Batman were," I lean over to whisper coyly in his ear, "_please help me_," and transition smoothly to, "and that's why he makes you run around the city in panties and tights. Any truth to the rumors, Boy Wonder?"

"Mmm?" he says, perplexed.

"I've always thought it was a shame, you being so cute and all. Oh, well. I wonder what the Dark Knight sees in you." I have the tights around his ankles before he can kick me away. "Naughty, naughty, Robin. I'm sure you've escaped more than one clever trap because the villains forgot to strip search you." I tape his knees together. "Very nice muscle tone in the legs. With your build and these rock-hard calves, I'm guessing you're a dancer." I free his ankles, remove the tights and briefs, and replace the tape. "This really is a ridiculous costume. If you wore something that incorporated pants, people wouldn't think you were such a fairy." With difficulty, I get his tunic up over his head without dislocating his shoulders. Getting it past the tape on his wrists without giving him a chance to fight me is harder, but within a few minutes I have him down to nothing but duct tape and a domino mask. I feel like a perv.

"I always hate to look at a naked masked man. They all look so much smaller without their costumes." I am thinking of how Dr. Crane looked when we took off his threadbare suit, like a man half-starved or terribly ill. But then my eyes are drawn to Robin's pitiful, naked frame. "Is it cold in here?"

He shivers. He nods. Already he won't look at me.

I detach the cape from his tunic, give it the once-over, and spread it on top of him. It's too short to do him much good. While tucking it around him, I manage to whisper in his ear again.

"Sorry, kid. Have to make this look real."

I sit up and rip the duct tape off his mouth.

"Batman will come for us!" He sounds so young.

"You really think your dearest love will save you?" Robin stares at me blankly.

"That's disgusting. He's like my father."

"Oh, a father, is it? Then I guess he won't be quite so happy to find you trussed up and ready for him, will he?" I stand up. "Have a pleasant evening, Boy Wonder."

I give the costume to Joe Hench and tell him to hang it where Robin can see it. I wait for him in the hall, thinking I probably ought to learn his real name.

This is my first chance to look around. Down the hall to my left is the room with the dried blood on the floor. Beyond it I know there are stairs leading to the side entrance Dr. Crane used when he brought me. The front entrance, I assume, is boarded up.

The room I have just left, of course, is Robin's, and the one between that and the bloody room is where they keep me now. There are more rooms in this hallway, but I don't know if they're occupied. I don't know where the Scarecrow and the rest of his henchmen sleep. I don't even know if there are any other henchmen; Joe Hench is the only one I've ever seen.

I haven't seen Emily since the day I suggested the duel, but Dr. Crane assures me there has been no change in her condition.

Down the hall in the other direction, I can see a window. We're somewhere above street level, but I already knew that. The hallway splits off to the left and right. I wish I had time to explore.

--


	7. Scarecrow

Scarecrow:

I admit she has piqued my interest with her little experiment. I realize she must have some hidden escape plan, but I also think she will keep her word as long as she believes I am keeping mine. I would like to see what she has in mind—she is a bright woman, and certainly the most interesting company I've had since the time I joined forces with Jervis Tetch. The time for her destruction will come, and soon, but for now, Batgirl will do.

Speaking of Batgirl…

I fold my newspaper neatly and place it on the table next to my battery-powered reading lamp, stand, and cross the room. A storage locker from the warehouse downstairs sits in the car corner of the room. I knock on the door.

"Are the walls closing in, Batgirl? Are you running out of air?"

"No, but I kind of have to pee." Her voice is muffled, but not terribly strained. I suppose I can rule out claustrophobia.

True to the terms of our arrangement, I have not used my fear toxin on the girl. I am enjoying the challenge.

I will have to change my methods, of course. I can't waste any more time searching for her personal fear. This is not just a contest, but a race. I can afford to sacrifice thoroughness for the sake of speed. Certain fears, after all, are deeply ingrained in all human beings. It shouldn't be difficult to set something up.

Emily:

Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow and a woman.

Al?

Not all.

Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow Scarecrow…

Scarecrow:

I take Batgirl to see Emily, who doesn't acknowledge our presence. She is lost in her own nightmares, which must be very much like her reality, if I have read her as well as I think I have.

"Is she alive?" Batgirl asks. Emily's eyes move toward her.

"Oh, yes, very much alive. I'm sure you've noticed that I haven't used my fear toxin on you yet. Batman must have told you about it. He may have tried to prepare you to withstand its effects. I want you to take a good look at Emily. If she were still capable of speaking in full sentences, she would tell you all about what I can do. What do you say, Emily?

"The Scarecrow walks at midnight," she singsongs. Batgirl's eyes widen. Her breathing accelerates slightly.

Perfect.

I push her down onto the only piece of furniture in the room, a wooden see-saw stolen from a children's playground. The leather straps I have attached hold her firmly in place. I tilt her head toward the floor so she and Emily can look at each other while I go and get some water.

Al:

In my pocket I have a marble-sized tracking device I took from Robin's clothes when I stripped him. Last night in the dark, I couldn't figure out how to activate it. I don't dare try to look at it in the light, with Joe Hench watching.

I know I need to give it back to Robin, but I'm not sure how. I may be a passable pickpocket, but for some reason I've never been able to slip anything to a contact without being seen by every rat and rival within five miles. Robin doesn't look like he's in any condition to accept a transfer with _sangfroid_, anyway.

He has curled up as close as he can to the fetal position under his cape, trying to conserve warmth. I feel terrible for him. I don't think this room is cold enough to seriously harm him, but I've been wrong about that before. I kneel down and touch his leg. It's like ice. He squirms away from me, his movements lethargic. Shit. I don't want to kill another one this way.

"Robin, are you ready to talk to me?"

"What do you want?" he mumbles.

"I just want to know your name."

"Robin."

"Oh, little Robin. This will all end when you tell me what I want to know. For both our sakes, I hope you give in before I have to start making you drink your own urine." He squirms again, and I realize that he has been here overnight and part of the day without a potty break. He must be about to pop.

I hate to do this to him, but I decide not to let him go to the bathroom.

But since I've already made the shrinking manhood joke, there's no more embarrassment to be gained by keeping the kid frozen half to death. I get Joe Hench to find some blankets. He won't leave me alone with the Boy Wonder, of course, but he gives me a little breathing room. I appreciate it.

I am wrapping a blanket around Robin's shoulders when the horrendous screaming begins.

Joe Hench turns his eyes away from me for the first time all day. I have the tracker out of my pocket in an instant. I fumble it, almost drop it, and pop it in my mouth just before he turns his attention back to me.

"Is that Batgirl?" Robin whispers. I look from him to Joe Henchman and back again. Robin is still shivering.

"This ought to warm you up, Batboy," I say, and press my lips against his.

He freezes, utterly shocked, but is quick-witted enough to take the thing into his mouth.

"It's like kissing my brother," I say, as if sorely disappointed.


	8. The great escape

Scarecrow:

This is not the high point of my career. I have put gangs together, and will again when I have the need, but what your average person doesn't realize is that super-criminals' gangs have to be paid, or else they're apt to turn on their masters.

I have two men working for me now, when the actual state of my finances should limit me to one at most. I would have hired one of them for heavy lifting, but when I thought of the ways I could utilize the pair of them against Alice and Emily, I couldn't resist. Emily is beyond caring, but Alice is in for quite the mindfuck. She doesn't realize that her guard has an identical twin.

I summon the other twin—which one, I don't care—and tell him what I want. He opens several bottles of Evian and pours them into a rusty bucket. I do miss running water.

I find a wide strip of cloth, the same one I used on Emily. She should enjoy that.

Standing just outside the door, I listen to a private conversation.

"Emily? Emily!" The little Batgirl sounds frightened, but not nearly as frightened as she should be.

"Al?" Emily whimpers.

"Emily, there's a little knife inside my left boot. I can't reach it. Can you get it for me?"

"Where's Al?"

"What? I don't know who Al is. He's not here, Emily. Please, I need your help. I can get you out of here, just _help me_."

"No. Scarecrow. Scare-crow."

"Emily may be a mindless wreck, but at least she isn't stupid," I say as I enter the room. I remove the knife—not a weapon, just a tool—from Batgirl's boot and toss it to the floor. Her face is red from the blood rushing to her head, but I think she is blushing from embarrassment, as well.

I tie the strip of cloth over her mouth and nose.

"No," Emily moans.

"This is a technique utilized by your own government, Batgirl," I explain. "Those subjected to it last an average of fourteen seconds. Emily here lasted all of three before she started begging me to stop, but she has always had a fear of drowning. If you happen to share her phobia, then this should be an interesting session indeed."

I pour a little water over her face to let her see what she's in for.

This technique gives the subject the sensation of drowning without actual danger. The statistics I gave her refer to volunteer government agents who knew very well the test wouldn't kill them. By those standards, fourteen seconds doesn't seem long at all.

I've never been through this myself, but I understand it can be quite traumatic.

Emily certainly thinks so. She screams at the top of her lungs the minute Batgirl begins to cough and choke.

"No! No! No!" she shrieks, covering her face with her hands. She might have screamed less if her skin were being ripped off inch by inch by a red-eyed demon with a nail file. The sound is beautiful. It unnerves even me.

Batgirl faints ten seconds into the session. Disappointing, but at least I've finally managed to really scare her.

I decide to come back later, when Emily stops screaming. Then I can wake Batgirl and try again. I think she'll be ready to talk.

Emily:

Scarecrow. Drowning. Scarecrow. Drowning. Scarecrow. Drowning. Scarecrow. Drowning. Scarecrow drowning.

Drowning Scarecrow.

Drown the Scarecrow.

Kill the Scarecrow. Kill the Scarecrow.

Knife.

One way to reach the Scarecrow. Two quick cuts.

"Goodbye, Alice."

Scarecrow:

I return later to find that Emily has taken Batgirl's knife and slit her own wrists. I have underestimated her. She has gotten free of me after all.

Never mind Batgirl. The duel is meaningless now. Alice will never continue, knowing her friend is dead. I could keep it secret, but for what? Better to abandon the brats, take Alice to another hiding place, and finish the job that she has so cleverly interrupted.

Batman could track us down as soon as tomorrow night, I think, and I am not prepared to fight him here. We need to move now.

I call a twin and send him to pack the car. Then—out of sight, out of mind—I forget about him.

I do remember to dress for the occasion. I load all my gas canisters onto my right wrist, just in case Alice needs persuasion.


	9. Rescue

Al:

I know it will all be over soon. Still, the sound of breaking glass surprises me.

Joe Hench leaves me—just takes off and runs. I follow him out into the hall and feel a cold breeze on my face. Batman has broken a window getting in.

I am alone.

I go to Robin and free him without speaking. He doesn't thank me. It doesn't matter. All I care about is finding Emily and getting out.

Robin will be heading to where the screams came from earlier this evening. I don't want to be stuck with him, so I run the other way, toward the broken window.

Rounding the corner, I trip over the body of Joe Hench.

Batman has been this way.

I hear the sound of a blow landing. A cry of pain.

I round another corner and see them illuminated by a street light outside.

Batman holds Jonathan Crane by the throat with his right hand, pinning him to the wall. Batman's left hand pins Dr. Crane's right, keeping the fear toxin out of commission. The scarecrow mask has been pulled halfway off, probably to prevent him from drowning in the blood that gushes from his nose. The eyeholes are somewhere up in his hair. His feet dangle several inches from the floor. His left hand tries futilely to pry Batman's fingers away from his throat.

"Where are they?" Batman demands. Dr. Crane struggles feebly.

"…can't…"

Batman slams Dr. Crane's head against the wall.

"Where are they?"

Voiceless, he mouths another word. It might be "breathe." It might be "please."

Batman slams the doctor's head back again.

"Where?"

Dr. Crane's arm falls to his side. Batman doesn't let him go.

"Batman!" I scream. "Help me!" Batman turns to look at me, still holding Dr. Crane against the wall as if he has forgotten he is there. "The prisoners! The gas! My God, they'll all be killed!" I sob convincingly. "And Robin! He'll never get free in time!"

Evidently, I look like a prisoner, not a villain. Batman throws Dr. Crane to the floor.

"Stay here," he tells me, and runs off in the direction I came from.

I go immediately to the Scarecrow, who lies, coughing and retching, on the floor. He cringes away from my hand on his shoulder.

"Don't be afraid, Jonathan. It's me." The use of his first name is spontaneous, a surprise to both of us. I have never been so familiar with him even in my own head, except once, of course, when I was trying to scare him. "I'm going to take off your mask." He is dazed; his eyes will not quite focus. The blood still pours out of his nose, which may be broken. I can already see the bruises darkening around his neck. I clench my fingers around his bloody mask. "Can you walk?" He shakes his head, no. The best he can do is raise himself slightly off the ground with trembling arms. He throws up.

I catch him before he can fall into the puddle of his own vomit, and help him sit up, letting him lean against me. Confused, he tries, to pull away. Compassion from me is the last thing he would have expected.

"Let me wear your mask, Jonathan." It feels more natural the second time. "I can create a distraction, let them come after me while you hide."

"Why?" he asks in a strangled whisper.

"Because I said I'd help you when Batman came. Besides, I'm a sucker for a wounded puppy."

His blue eyes open wide, as if he cannot believe what he's hearing. I pull the mask down over my own face.

He must be thinking that it's just like looking in a mirror.

It smells strongly of his blood.

In the act of helping him to stand, I bring his right hand close to his face and depress a button, spraying a cloud of gas into the air.

The mask filters it for me.

I let him fall to the floor, shuddering in total fear of me.

"Where's Emily?" I growl. The mask distorts my voice beautifully. He is terrified.

"No…"

"Just tell me where she is and I'll leave you alone."

"Put an end…to her own…suffering."

"You mean she's dead?" He tries to back away from me, but Batman has really messed him up, and the toxin has done the rest. He can barely move. I kneel down and start to get him out of his coat. He tries to push me away, but he is so disoriented, it takes three tries for him to even find my hand. He is as weak as a newborn. I shake him off.

"Not again," he moans. "No…" He is weeping.

"Oh, shut up, you whiner." I put on his coat and force him to stand. I suppose a more considerate person would have let him keep the coat. I don't consider it. I want my Scarecrow disguise to be as real as possible, and the Scarecrow does not have visible breasts.

He would have been in no shape for this even if I hadn't gassed him. Now, not only can he not support his own weight, he is too afraid to lean on me for help.

I have draped his arm over my shoulders and put mine around his waist. You would think that would force him to stay close to me, but he does his best to make me drop him with every step.

"How do we get out of here?" I ask him.

"Fire…"

"A fire escape?" He points at the broken window. I see the ladder. It must be how Batman got up.

There's no way Dr. Crane will make it down.

So I shove him out the window and climb carefully down the ladder by myself.

I see that he has fallen hard, breaking an arm and a couple of ribs.

I pick him up again and throw him in the back seat of the first car I see. I hot-wire it, and we are gone in seconds.

As we drive toward _my_ stronghold, I listen to him having a panic attack behind me. When I grow tired of listening to his confused flailing and frantically labored breathing, I begin telling him what I'm going to do to him.

There will be humiliation, and there will be terror, and I doubt he will survive this time.


End file.
